


To Die Would Be An Awfully Big Adventure

by Dusty



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief, Hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:39:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty/pseuds/Dusty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reflective drabble. This takes place about a month after James' supposed death in Skyfall, and before Silva's attack on the MI6 building. Does M really believe he's dead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Die Would Be An Awfully Big Adventure

# “The last thing he ever said to me was, 'Just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing.” - Wendy Darling

The glass fitted into her hand so perfectly; the amber liquid gently lapping at the sides of the tumbler. It was a familiar scene, but tonight felt different. She watched as the trace of alcohol left a thin film, disappearing as it evaporated. Idly she considered it was like watching a wave retract into the ocean, its evidence disappearing before her eyes. The sand would look normal again. And no one would know the wave had even been there.

She was sitting in her living room, still dressed immaculately from a day of interviews and meetings and briefings and grillings. There was nothing left of her this evening. She sat quite still, but for the soothing motion of swilling her bourbon and the slight bobbing of her foot. A light breeze softly tickled her white hair.

She took a good swig, not quite draining the glass, gulping down the numbing nectar. Glancing at the clock, she failed to understand how only 15 minutes could have passed. Time was usually mocking her, as she dashed from place to place, crisis to crisis, never enough of it. But tonight was never ending. It was as if someone had deleted all other vital thoughts and considerations, leaving her one just the one reality. The never ending wait. _Never is an awfully long time._

Her heart felt ice cold. She looked around the room. Her husband’s old mantel clock ticked away, louder and louder. Her comfortable home. Another swig and the glass was empty. She stood, immediately heading for a refill, but stopped. Ahead of her, a curtain gently billowed in the crisp draft from the open window. _“Don’t ever break into my house again,”_ she’d said. He wasn't there. 

There was a smash as the glass fell to the floor and shattered. It had somehow got away from her. Out of her grip. Her hand was shaking. She leaned on the sideboard for support as the terrible feelings swelled inside her, clawing her throat. She took a deep breath. Kneeling down, she diligently placed each fragment of glass into her palm. _Damn it_. That was her favourite glass. All pieces picked up, still knelt down, she glanced once more at the clock. Has time stopped completely? And then a chill in the room. She shivered. She would need to close that window.

She felt somehow stuck. Frozen in position. She lightly closed her fingers around the glass shards. Almost overwhelmed with the impulse to crush it all into her flesh. What possible pain could she feel now anyway? Nothing was happening. No one was here. A dull throb in her head reminded her of her responsibilities to her country. But it was nothing compared to the happy rush of blood to her heart when she felt absolute assurance she wouldn't be doing it alone. He was too stubborn not to have the last word. He would return.

Warmth returned to her along with her iron will. The moment had passed. Unsteadily, she stood and carried the broken pieces to the kitchen pedal bin. A flip of her foot, a toss of her hand. The glass was gone. Again, she shivered. Winter was coming. Where was he? She wrapped her arms around herself. She was alone. She found herself walking to the window quite dutifully, closing it shut. But she wouldn't lock it.

Once more she froze, this time quite at peace, looking out into the soft light of the street.

Holding herself tightly, she murmured. _“Oh the cleverness of you.”_

She smiled thinly, and went to bed. If James Bond had taught her anything, it was to trust her intuition over the facts. And, of course, to trust him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I am writing another thing at the moment, about Peter Pan. And it struck me how like Peter Pan Craig!Bond is. He never grows up. Always cheats death. Whereas poor Wendy had to grow old. 
> 
> But she never stopped waiting for him. And never locked the window.


End file.
